


ex gratia

by extasiswings



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Time Travel, F/M, Garcia Flynn Human Disaster, The Little AU That Could
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10136414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: It goes like this:"Dr. Preston?"The man isn't a student, that's for sure. Or if he is, he certainly isn't one Lucy's seen around."Can I help you?""My name is Garcia Flynn. I work for the NSA. And I believe you may be in danger."





	1. Prologue

_This is it. This is how it ends._

Months of searching, of late nights, of grasping at straws that only led to cold, dead ends and he’s finally here. On this day, at a cabin in the woods in Washington, a warrant in his hands for the arrest of one Jake Neville, alias Quincy Adams...this is how it ends.

“You ready?” At Flynn’s side, Wyatt levels him with a steady look as if he can sense the way his partner’s heart is racing, the way his whole body is thrumming with adrenaline. Come to think of it, it’s probably obvious. 

(Wyatt is a good partner, one of the few Flynn’s had throughout his career that he really clicked with. Maybe it’s the training, or maybe it’s just the fact that they’ve both lost things no one should have to lose. Either way, he appreciates having the other man around)

“Yeah,” Flynn replies, drawing his sidearm and slapping the warrant to the door with his free hand. “Let’s go.”

_This is how it ends…_

Except it doesn’t.

It goes like this:

Neville runs, Flynn follows alone as Wyatt continues to search the house with the rest of the team of agents. 

It goes like this:

“It wasn’t just me, you know,” Neville says, standing on the walking bridge just off the main property and aiming his gun at Flynn with an unsteady hand. “I can tell you everything you need to know about Rittenhouse. But if you arrest me, I’m a dead man. You have to protect me.”

“You killed my family,” Flynn hisses, his own aim much steadier. He doesn’t want to shoot the other man—or, well, he does, but he also wants whatever information he can get—but he’s not going to leave himself open either.

“I was just following orders,” he replies, voice tinged with panic. “Look, Rittenhouse is—you don’t understand, the man who gave the order, that was Ca—”

It goes like this:

A shot rings out and Neville falls to the ground, a bloody hole in his head. Flynn shouts, looks up to try and spot the sniper, then falls himself when more shots come.

The thing movies don’t tell you about getting shot while wearing a “bulletproof” vest is that while you won’t die, it’ll still hurt like a son of a bitch. Words like blunt force trauma echo in Flynn’s head when the first hit to his chest steals his breath and puts him on his knees. The second sends pain shooting up his side, making fractured ribs a definite possibility. The final shot to his stomach, lays him out entirely, swallowing back bile as his vision blacks out for a moment from the pain.

It goes like this:

They don’t catch the sniper. Flynn spends a few days in the hospital and his team gets reassigned. With Jake Neville dead, the file is marked closed.

That’s how it ends.

Except it doesn’t.

 

_One month later…_

Wyatt Logan is not a stupid man. He’s smart, hardworking, good at his job—he’s not a stupid man. 

However, as he steps through the door of the coffee shop and scans until he spots a familiar face, he admits to himself that he may, on occasion, be prone to making decisions that suggest otherwise.

These decisions usually involve the influence of one Garcia Flynn. 

“Did you bring it?”

Flynn doesn’t even look up as he says it, as Wyatt slides into the seat across from him, and Wyatt can’t help rolling his eyes. 

_Nice to see you too, buddy._

“Hey, partner, how are you?” He shoots back. “Awfully nice weather we’re having—”

“Wyatt.” Flynn does look up then, and when he takes off his sunglasses, Wyatt can see the dark circles under his eyes. “Did you bring it?”

Wyatt gives in and sets the folder he’d brought with him on the table, but he places his hand on top of it when Flynn tries to take it. _Just...hold on._

“Look,” he sighs. “You know I get it. I do. But for the record, because I have to ask...are you sure you really want to go down this road?”

If it were him, if it were Jessica, there’s nothing that would hold him back. But Flynn’s his partner and he’s not going to send him down another rabbit hole just to come up with nothing yet again. It’s a vicious cycle and you have to know when to stop looking.

That’s what he did after all. 

“Give me the file, Logan,” Flynn replies after a long pause. Wyatt lifts his hand and Flynn snatches the folder away. 

“Neville had an apartment in San Francisco,” Wyatt fills in as Flynn flips through the contents. “Even though the case is closed I pushed to follow up with the property, just in case. We went in two weeks ago and found a wall of surveillance photos. No name, no other information about why he was keeping tabs on her, just the photos.”

“Lucy Preston,” Flynn reads off the top sheet. He glances back up at Wyatt after scanning the rest of the document. “Why would a hired gun be stalking a Stanford history professor?”

“We don’t know,” Wyatt admits. “Rufus was able to figure out her name and everything else in there from running her photos, but the Director decided that since Neville is out of the picture, there’s no reason to keep looking into it. He thinks she’s safe.”

There’s a look in Flynn’s eye that Wyatt doesn’t like at all, the kind of spark that usually means something is about to happen that he’s going to end up regretting.

“If Rittenhouse is involved, she might not be,” Flynn says.

“We don’t know that Rittenhouse is involved,” Wyatt points out, but his attempt to be a voice of reason isn’t exactly successful. 

“But we don’t know they aren’t either.” Flynn closes the folder and sticks it under his arm before pushing back his chair. “Wyatt...thank you.”

“Where are you going?”

Flynn slides his glasses back on—covering his eyes transforms his look almost immediately from exhausted local to attractive tourist—and he smiles. 

(It’s too bitter to be a smile really, but then, the falseness of it wouldn’t necessarily be apparent to the everyday random stranger. To Wyatt though, it definitely is)

“I’m on _vacation_ aren’t I?” 

(It’s not really a vacation. To everyone else at the agency, it’s a voluntary paid leave, but Wyatt knows that the suggestion to take some time had been put to his partner in terms that made it perfectly clear it wasn’t actually a request)

“I hear Palo Alto is lovely this time of year,” Flynn finishes. 

“Garcia…” _I hope you know what you’re doing_.

“I’ll be fine, Wyatt. I’ll call you.”

Wyatt watches as Flynn slips out the door, his stomach sinking. It’s not that he doesn’t trust his partner. He does. He just also knows how Flynn can be.

 _Please don’t let us get fired for this_ , he thinks. 

(He’s only about 40% confident that won’t happen)


	2. i

Lucy Preston is not having a good day. On the way to her first class, she spilled coffee all down a brand new blouse, a) ruining the blouse, b) making her late since she had to change, and c) depriving her of caffeine at 8AM. Then, the IT department broke something in the system so she couldn’t get into her email (although she changed her password three times before she found out the whole thing was down). And then, in her afternoon class, half the time was taken up by students asking about the requirements for their upcoming papers—which, for the record, are clearly laid out in the syllabus—so she had to rush through a lecture that she otherwise would have been perfectly comfortable with. 

It’s not a good day.

She’s packing up her things, more than ready to head home for the day—she doesn’t have any department meetings for once and she would really like a nap or a stiff drink or both even if it’s only 3:30—when a shadow moves in the back of the lecture hall.

“Dr. Preston?”

The man isn’t a student, that’s for sure. Or if he is, he certainly isn’t one Lucy’s seen around. Tall, dark, and handsome is the first description that comes to mind, although she quickly banishes that line of thinking. 

“Can I help you?” She asks as she snaps her briefcase shut. 

The man steps further into the room, reaching into the inside of his jacket. When the fabric shifts, Lucy catches a glimpse of a gun and goes still, but he comes up with only a folded black leather square that he flips open to reveal a badge.

“My name is Garcia Flynn,” he replies. “I’m an agent with the NSA. And I believe you may be in danger.”

Lucy stares blankly for a moment, then laughs.

“This is a joke, right?” She asks. “You’re an actor and this is a joke. Let me guess, Jen from Psych sent you? This seems like her.”

“Dr. Preston, I can assure you, this is very real.”

“But it’s ridiculous!” Lucy exclaims. “I’m a professor. I don’t even have tenure, what—”

“Your office was broken into three days ago,” Flynn interrupts, and her mouth snaps shut. “Nothing was taken, but your computer was smashed. The administration thinks it must have been a disgruntled student, but you couldn’t think of anyone who might have wanted to do something like that. Five days ago your sister Amy woke up in the middle of the night because she thought she heard an intruder. She called the police, but they didn’t find anything, although she said it looked like some things in your home office may have been out of place. Sound familiar?”

Listening to him, Lucy’s grown progressively colder. The first part he maybe could have known if this really was some kind of elaborate prank from one of her colleagues, although even then it’s been kept somewhat quiet. The second though...she hasn’t mentioned that to anyone.

“How—” She clears her throat when her voice catches. “—how do you know all of that?”

“I know everything about you, Lucy,” Flynn replies. Lucy takes a step back unconsciously and he raises his hands in apology. “Sorry. Agency humor. Perhaps a little tactless given the circumstance.”

She looks him over, taking a breath to calm her racing heart, and then presses her lips together and nods. 

“Little bit,” she agrees. “You said I’m in danger? From what?”

“From an organization called Rittenhouse,” Flynn explains, slipping his badge back into his jacket before crossing his arms over his chest. “Surveillance photos of you were found in the residence of one of their agents, a man named Jake Neville.”

“Surveillance—” Any calm Lucy managed to achieve previously vanishes abruptly at that. “You mean like—”

“Pictures of you here on campus, at your home, out around the city,” Flynn clarifies. “Now, Dr. Preston—”

“Lucy,” she corrects. “I—if we’re going to be talking about someone taking creepy stalker photos of me, I’d prefer you call me Lucy.”

For the first time in the conversation, Flynn’s face softens. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s finally seeing her as a person rather than a job or for some other reason, but she appreciates it nonetheless. 

“Lucy,” he allows, his voice softening as well. “Do you have any idea why these people may be watching you?”

Lucy shakes her head. Christ, what a mess. “I don’t even know who they are. Rittenhouse? I’ve never heard that name before. Or Jake Neville. And I’m just a history professor, there’s nothing special about me. Nothing.”

“I very much doubt that, Lucy,” he replies. “But I believe you about Rittenhouse. I’m here to offer you protection.”

“Like witness protection? New name, address, all of that?” The fear curling her stomach is quickly turning to anger. _How dare these people disrupt her life like this? How dare they?_

“No. I can’t leave. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” Flynn assures. “You can stay here as long as there’s an agent with you. It’s just a precaution.”

“And you would be that agent I’m assuming.”

He shrugs. “Well, I’m already here.”

Lucy’s eyes flick down to the gold wedding band on his finger. “How does your wife feel about you volunteering to spend all your time with another woman?”

Flynn stiffens, following her gaze. His jaw ticks—the only other sign that she’s hit a nerve she didn’t know was there—before he replies, “My wife died. A little over a year ago.”

 _Oh. Shit._ “I’m sorry.”

He waves her off, a tight smile on his face. Lucy picks up her briefcase and nods toward the door. “Can we continue this on the way to my car?”

“Headed home?”

“It’s been a surprisingly difficult day already.”

Flynn holds the door open for her, his hand brushing her sleeve when she steps through it. “I hope I haven’t made things too much more trying.”

Lucy raises an eyebrow and cuts her eyes to him. “I can’t imagine why you would think you had.”

“Your sarcasm is noted.”

“I wasn’t exactly trying to hide it.” Through the corner of her eye, she thinks Flynn might actually suppress a smile at that. 

They spend most of the walk to the parking lot in silence, Lucy nodding at the various students and staff that greet her as they pass by. When they reach her car, she turns to face him, leaning against her door. 

“What would it look like? Personal protection?”

Flynn hooks his thumbs in his pockets and glances around the lot. There isn’t anyone else around, but the implicit reminder— _pictures of you here on campus_ —sends a shiver down her spine. 

“I’d be with you almost all the time,” he says. “At your home, here, when you go out. Just until we can be sure the threat has been neutralized.”

Lucy bites her lip. “And how long would that be?”

“I couldn’t say.”

Giving up her privacy, a significant part of her life, for an indeterminate period of time...it’s not exactly something she wants to commit to lightly. 

“I—I need to think,” she replies. “About all of this. Can I call you or something?”

“Sure.” Flynn presses a card into her hand with a scribbled number on it and steps back. “Feel free to use that if you see anything concerning. Or if you just have questions.”

“Thank you, Agent Flynn.”

It seems almost too easy, that after all of that Lucy should just be able to drive off. But that’s exactly what she does, keeping track of Flynn in her rear-view mirror until she leaves the lot. She’s unsettled in a way she doesn’t think she’s ever been, heart racing, stomach twisting—she can’t help looking around as she drives home, paying even closer attention than usual to the other cars on the road.

There’s one car, black, inconspicuous, that she thinks might be following her. The feeling has her reaching for the card in her pocket for a moment, but then it passes her and she sighs heavily.

_Paranoia. That’s all this is._

 

Miles away, Rufus Carlin leans closer to his computer as he rewrites the same piece of code for the third time.

“Come on, please? Run for me?”

He doesn’t jump when his phone rings, but it’s a near thing. 

“Go for Rufus.”

“Rufus, it’s Flynn. I need a favor.”

Rufus minimizes the error message that appears when he tries to run the program he’s been building and shifts the phone to his shoulder so his hands will be free for the keyboard. 

“You’re not supposed to be working,” he reminds him. “So this is an unofficial favor then?”

“You could say that,” Flynn acknowledges. “You know those tracking devices you gave me? Can you pull the signal for one of them?”

Rufus goes still for a moment and tries not to either groan or swear or both. Then, he opens up a new window and pulls up the program he needs to grab the tracking data. 

_Palo Alto...Flynn, what did you do?_

“Please tell me I’m tracking you right now.”

“I could, but that would be a lie.”

Rufus rolls his eyes nearly hard enough to strain something, if only because he doesn’t have enough hands to facepalm to the extent dealing with Flynn’s everything requires. He _told_ Wyatt not to give Flynn that file. _Leave the poor unsuspecting professor alone_ , he’d said. _Don’t bring a civilian into our mess_ , he’d said. 

_He’s our friend_ , Wyatt had replied, and then he’d given Flynn the file anyway.

 _I need better friends_ , Rufus thinks. 

“I gave you those prototypes so you could test them for me.”

“And I am testing them for you,” Flynn replies. “Technically.”

“Tell me you didn’t put a tracking device on Lucy Preston.”

“Just send the data to my phone, Rufus.”

“No, I’m not going to help you—wait.” Rufus pulls up security camera footage for the park Lucy’s car has just stopped by. There’s an unmarked vehicle pulling in alongside her, and even if they don’t have pictures for any other confirmed Rittenhouse agents, the men that step out of the car definitely have that look.

 _Shit._

“Flynn, you need to get to Johnson Park ASAP. Your historian’s got company.”

On the other end of the line, Flynn swears in Russian. “You’ll keep the tracker online?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Call me if she moves.”

“Will do.”

The dial tone sits heavy in his ear.


	3. ii

Lucy pulls into a parking space at Johnson Park, just needing a minute to calm herself down. Pictures or no pictures, stalkers or no stalkers, she’s been fine before. She should be able to drive herself home without jumping at shadows so to speak.

She steps out of the car, taking a deep breath. Another car pulls in next to her, but she tries not to pay attention.

_Don’t be ridiculous, Lucy_ , she thinks. _You’re fine._

Still, something about the first man who steps out of the other car sends her hand gripping her phone.

Flynn did say she should call for anything…

She feels foolish as she steps away from her car and starts dialing, but, well...better safe than sorry.

“This is Flynn.”

Lucy’s heart jumps as his voice comes over the line just as the men from the other car glance in her direction.

“Hi, this is Lucy Preston.” Her free hand worries at a stray thread on her jacket and she starts walking into the park. “Um, I don’t mean to bother you, but I’m in Johnson Park and two men in suits are here? I—I don’t know how to explain, but—”

Just saying that much out loud makes Lucy flush. She considers herself to be a very sensible person—she doesn’t get spooked easily, doesn’t like to make a fuss, and certainly isn’t some kind of damsel in distress, but…

The men are still looking at her.

“Don’t worry, Lucy,” Flynn says when she trails off. “I’ll be right there.”

His voice is light, comforting—he’s probably trained to sound that way in situations like this, but she’s glad for it even if it’s rehearsed. 

“Thank you.”

“Do you want me to stay on the line?”

“Miss Preston?” The older of the two men comes up behind her—it takes a lot for her to not openly react. 

“Yes.” It’s mostly to Flynn, but it’s to the man behind her as well. Lucy lowers the phone from her ear and forces a smile as she turns around.

“Do I know you?”

“Miss Preston, we’re with Homeland Security. It’s our understanding that you may have been contacted by a suspected terrorist earlier today.”

Lucy almost laughs. She can feel it bubbling up inside, high and more than a little hysterical. NSA? Homeland Security? (Although Flynn at least had shown her a badge). What, is she a magnet for black ops today? 

“And who would that be?” She asks.

The man smiles thinly and holds up a photo of Flynn. “Tell me, Miss Preston—”

“ _Doctor_ ,” Lucy snaps. Normally she wouldn’t be terribly fussed about titles, but his congenial tone and the constant iterations of “Miss” are grating, especially when she’s on edge. She didn’t spend years in academia getting multiple advanced degrees to be called “Miss Preston.” 

(If it’s the easiest thing for her mind to latch onto, to react to, in this whole situation, well, she doesn’t think anyone could blame her)

“Dr. Preston,” the man corrects. “Do you know this man?”

She’s not sure what inspires her to lie. She has no allegiance to Flynn, no substantial reason to believe his story over the men in front of her saying that he’s dangerous, and yet...her gut says he was telling her the truth, even if he may not have been telling her the whole truth. 

“I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“Dr. Preston, this is not a game,” the second man interjects, jaw ticking. “Garcia Flynn is a highly trained operative. He’s an incredibly dangerous man—”

“And you’re what, exactly?” Lucy interrupts, her eyes hardening. “You tracked me down, followed me, haven’t given me any reason to trust you, but Flynn’s the dangerous one?”

“What my colleague is trying to say,” the first man cuts in, “is that for your safety, we think it would really be for the best if you came with us, Dr. Preston.”

The smile is frozen on his mouth, perfectly polite and inviting, but his eyes...his eyes are cold, glittering chips of ice in the late afternoon light. As nice as his phrasing is, Lucy can tell his suggestion isn’t exactly optional.

_Flynn...please hurry._

_Think fast..._

“Can I at least call my sister?” Lucy asks, turning her phone so the men can’t see that a call is already ongoing. “If I don’t come home she’ll worry. And I don’t get the impression you’re looking to get the police involved in this.”

The men exchange a glance and then the first one nods. “Okay. But don’t take long.”

Lucy presses a random button on the keypad and lifts the phone to her ear once more. “Amy? Hey, it’s me.”

“You’re doing really well, Lucy,” Flynn assures on the other end of the line. “I’m almost there. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not—” She coughs as she glances over at her new Men in Black friends. “I just wanted to call and let you know that I’m stuck at the office with some grading, so I’m not going to be home until late.”

“When I get there, I need you to do some things, okay?”

“Sure. Whatever you need.”

“You’re going to get in your car and drive to the nearest shopping center. Go to a coffee shop, somewhere crowded. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

_And if you don’t?_ The question is on the tip of Lucy’s tongue, but she swallows it back. It’s not exactly something she can ask without drawing suspicion.

“Okay. Will do.”

“Good. Get ready to run.”

“I’ll see you then. Bye, Ames.”

When she hangs up, for real this time, it’s like cutting the tether from a life raft. For a moment as she faces her would-be kidnappers once more, she wishes she really had called Amy. On the off-chance that she ends up disappearing off the face of the earth for reasons unknown, it would have been nice to say goodbye to her sister one last time.

“Are you ready, Dr. Preston?”

_Get ready to run._

A second black car squeals around the corner, drawing the attention of the two men, and Lucy dashes to her car. It’s Flynn all right. She doesn’t wait to see what happens. Even fumbling her keys, she manages to get them in the ignition and pulls the car out of the space. Gunshots echo behind her as she drives away, but she doesn’t look back to see.

_I’ll meet you there as soon as I can._

Lucy can’t remember the drive to the coffee shop once she pulls into a parking space. It’s a blur of autopilot and adrenaline and muscle memory. When she stops to think, she has to take a minute to breathe, resting her forehead against the steering wheel.

_Someone just tried to kidnap me._

She feels sick.

_Flynn…_

Lucy almost screams when her phone rings, the sound too sudden and loud in the small space of the car. It’s not a number she knows—for a long moment she almost doesn’t pick up. It’s only after it starts ringing again a second time that she hits accept. 

“This is Lucy Preston.” It’s a miracle her voice doesn’t shake.

“Hey there, Lucy.” The man’s voice is calm, gentle. Even though it’s unfamiliar, it doesn’t set off the panic she expects from hearing a stranger’s voice right now. “I’m Rufus. I work with Flynn.”

It occurs to her that she should probably be concerned about how this Rufus got her number, but, well, NSA. 

“You’re an agent?”

“Kind of,” Rufus replies. “Flynn’s no James Bond, and I’m way cooler than Q, but it’s the same concept. He’s fine, if you were wondering. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

There’s a bubble of hysterical laughter trapped in Lucy’s throat and it takes her a bit to respond. How she’s doing? Really?

“Um...not great, Rufus,” she answers. “It’s been kind of a day to be honest.”

“Yeah. Dealing with Flynn tends to have that effect on people.” His delivery is so dry that Lucy laughs despite herself. 

“He’s not that bad is he?”

“Jury’s out,” Rufus quips, adding a moment later, “Honestly though, you shouldn’t worry. Flynn’s really good at his job. And more importantly, so am I. We’ll keep you safe.”

It may be foolish for her to feel so comforted by the easy words of a stranger, but she is nonetheless. 

“Thank you, Rufus,” Lucy says quietly. “I appreciate that.” 

“You should go inside,” he suggests. “Get yourself some tea or something. Nothing caffeinated—just trust me on that. And I’ll send my number to your phone.”

“Why?”

Rufus laughs. “Flynn can be...well, you’ll have it if you want it, that’s all.”

In the background, a woman’s voice comes over the line. “Rufus! Did you get a chance to look at that data I sent you earl—oh, sorry, you’re on the phone.”

“No, no, Jiya, it’s fine—Lucy, I have to go, but hang in there. I’m sure we’ll talk soon.”

He’s gone before she can say anything else, and Lucy is left staring at her phone in mild disbelief. The whole day feels like a whirlwind of a dream, terrifying and utterly exhausting and not at all real. And yet, somehow it is. 

With a sigh, she gathers her things and goes inside to wait for Flynn.

 

_Johnson Park_

Flynn leans against his car door, staring down at the unconscious and zip-tied men on the ground. They may have said they’re with Homeland Security, but there’s nothing on them that would indicate that. 

_That doesn’t prove they’re Rittenhouse._ The voice in his head sounds irritatingly like Wyatt. 

The problem is, now he has them where he wants them, but doesn’t know what to do with them. He could put them in his car, take them off somewhere, apply pressure until he gets the answers he needs. But—

But he made Lucy a promise.

_Dammit._

He picks up his phone.

“Wyatt. How soon can you get here?”


	4. iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, I was only able to update so quickly this week because I was on a break (and today had 6 hours on a plane with nothing else to do), so please don't expect this to be the norm. That said, enjoy this chapter of Walking Disaster Garcia Flynn :)

“What did you do?” Wyatt asks immediately, an edge of wariness in his voice. Flynn nearly rolls his eyes. 

“A little trust, please,” he replies. “I prevented Lucy from being kidnapped. That’s all. But now I have two unconscious Rittenhouse agents and nowhere to put them.”

“And you want me to, what? Arrest them? Flynn, you know we don’t have that kind of authority. They’re not terrorists.”

“They could be,” Flynn argues. “You don’t know what they’ve done. That’s why you should come down here, arrest them, and then ask them exactly that.”

“Flynn—”

“They aren’t exactly good people, Wyatt. They tried to kidnap an innocent woman in broad daylight today. Not exactly the work of upstanding citizens.”

“So turn them in to the police,” Wyatt suggests. “They committed a crime. That’s more than enough for the police to hold them.”

Flynn does roll his eyes then. For all that Wyatt is a good partner, he occasionally has terrible ideas. 

“If I wanted to call the police, I could have done that fifteen minutes ago,” he points out. “I called you because if these men are Rittenhouse they aren’t likely to stay in custody for very long. And I need to know what they know.” 

Wyatt sighs and Flynn can picture the look on his face, the way he’s probably pinching the bridge of his nose because he knows his partner is right and doesn’t want to admit it, exasperation and resignation joining in equal measure. 

“The Director thinks she’s safe. He’s not going to authorize—”

“He will,” Flynn insists. “Because clearly, she isn’t safe. As I’ve just demonstrated.” 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, then something Flynn doesn’t quite catch muttered under Wyatt’s breath before finally—

“It’ll take me a few hours,” he says. “Hand them over to the police and I’ll get authorization to pick them up when I get there.”

Flynn opens his mouth to argue again, but Wyatt cuts him off before he can. “It’s the best I can do, man. Unless you want to leave Lucy alone for several hours so you can watch them yourself.”

He almost says yes, that he’ll do exactly that. But then he thinks about Lucy’s voice on the phone— _Don’t be afraid, I’m not_ —about the look in her eyes when he reminded her about the break-ins and mentioned the surveillance photos, and he can’t.

She’s strong, that much he can tell already. Independent and strong and clearly brilliant...but she’s still a civilian. She’s bound to be shaken. And it’s his job to help steady her again.

“Okay,” he agrees. “I’ll call them and send you the details.”

“Garcia...are _you_ okay?” 

It’s a question he should have expected. Wyatt’s always been too perceptive for his own good—it’s part of what makes him a good agent. But it can be a real pain in the ass when Flynn doesn’t want to be read. 

_Am I okay?_

It’s the first time he’s worked an individual protection detail since Lorena and Iris died, Rittenhouse is involved, and less than 24 hours into it, he almost lost the person he’s supposed to be responsible for. 

_Not at all._

“I’m fine.” 

“Bullshit,” Wyatt coughs. 

“Do you want to psychoanalyze me, or do you want to get your ass out here and do some real work for once?”

“I can’t do both?”

Flynn smiles despite himself. “You’re a dick,” he remarks good-naturedly. _Thank you._

“What a coincidence. So are you,” Wyatt replies. _You’re welcome._ “I’ll talk to you soon, partner.”

“Talk to you soon.”

 

It takes nearly an hour to transfer the would-be kidnappers into police custody, but finally Flynn pulls into the parking lot of the coffee shop Lucy’s waiting at. 

He can see her clearly through the window—he makes a mental note to say something about snipers and sight-lines at a later point—and he takes a moment just to look at her. 

_“There’s nothing special about me. Nothing.”_

_“I very much doubt that.”_

_What does Rittenhouse want with you?_ Flynn wonders as he watches Lucy check her watch, her brow furrowing. 

History professor, a Stanford legacy in fact as the daughter of Carol Preston, recently deceased. Father, deceased. One sister. Single. No criminal record or any questionable ties. By all accounts, a perfectly normal woman...except Rittenhouse would have no reason to go after a perfectly normal woman. 

_What are you hiding?_

Lucy’s eyes meet his through the window when she glances up and relief floods her face. Flynn steps through the door without wasting any more time. 

“You’re okay,” she says when he slides into the chair across from her. “I mean—Rufus said you were and I believed him, but, well…” 

Her eyes cut away and the faintest hint of red colors her cheeks.

 _She was worried. And not for herself._ The realization hurts the way a healing bruise might—achy but soft instead of sharp. It’s been a long time since someone other than Wyatt or Rufus cared what happened to him. It’s nice. 

It’s also more than he deserves. 

“Don’t worry about me, Lucy,” Flynn replies. “I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I couldn’t handle those two.”

Lucy bites her lip and nods, her gaze fixing on the lid of her cup. “Who were they?” She asks, her voice quiet but steady. 

“I don’t know for sure,” he admits. “But most likely Rittenhouse agents.”

“And what is Rittenhouse? You weren’t terribly forthcoming earlier.”

Flynn glances around the shop, considers his options. “Not here.”

Lucy’s eyes flash when they meet his again, anger and confusion warring in their depths. “These people followed me to a park and tried to force me to go with them,” she hisses. “I deserve to know what this is about.”

“And I’ll tell you,” he assures. “Just not here.”

She glares and for a moment the expression reminds him so much of Lorena that he can’t breathe. 

(It’s not the sort of thing he would have expected to remind him—they rarely fought, and yet—)

“Flynn—”

“I’m not discussing matters of national security in public,” Flynn interrupts. Lucy’s mouth snaps shut at that, but the glare remains. 

“Where then?”

“We can talk more at your house once I’ve checked it for bugs.”

“For—” Lucy goes pale as if the thought that whoever was taking pictures of her might also have been recording her life in other ways hadn’t occurred to her. Flynn finds himself reaching across the table before he can think better of it, his fingers curling gently around hers. 

“Do you trust me, Lucy?” He asks quietly.

Lucy raises an eyebrow. “I don’t _know_ you,” she points out. “We just met like...three hours ago.”

Flynn bites back a grin at that. “Fair enough,” he acknowledges, his fingers casually squeezing hers before he withdraws his hand. “Let me rephrase then. Do you trust me when I say I will do everything I can to make sure nothing happens to you?”

She considers that. “I’m still not entirely convinced this isn’t some sort of crazy dream,” she replies. “But I suppose if it isn’t...well, you did just save me back there. And I’m pretty sure Rufus would have told me if you were secretly a serial killer. So...sure. Yes. I do.”

“Okay. Then let’s get you home.”

“Okay.”

As Flynn walks Lucy to her car, he can’t help a flicker of guilt. After all, while Rittenhouse might have continued pursuing her without his involvement, he can’t deny having known that inserting himself into her life was virtually guaranteed to draw them out. It was what he’d been counting on. 

“Flynn.” Her voice cuts through his thoughts. “Thank you.”

 _Please don’t say that._

“I’m just doing my job.”

“Still.”

He pushes down the guilt, swallows back the honest truth—that this isn’t his job, that he has no official assignments at all right now, that she wouldn’t be one even if he did. If lying gets him at all closer to taking out Rittenhouse, he’ll say anything. 

(If the lies keep him up at night sometimes, well, they’re no worse than the hundreds of other things he’s done that do the same)

“You should head home. I’ll follow you.”

“Okay.”

 _I’m fine_ , Flynn thinks to himself, echoing his words to Wyatt earlier. _This is fine._

_Bullshit._


	5. iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Don't go to grad school, y'all. It's actually the worst. But, hey! New chapter! (*looks at calendar and winces* *apologizes profusely*). Hope you all enjoy :)

Amy’s car is parked on the street when Lucy gets home, and she winces at the thought of having to explain everything that’s happened. Not that she can really avoid it—Flynn arrives just after she pulls into the driveway and there’s no good way to introduce any man she brings home to her sister. Not...that she’s bringing him home. He’s there to protect her.

(Lord, she’s tired. Her thoughts are all over the place)

She waits in her car as long as she can before stepping out. Flynn’s already there, leaning against her passenger side door, and he tips his head and looks at her carefully.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Lucy replies, locking the car and fiddling with the keys to get some of her nervous energy out. “I just wasn’t expecting Amy to be home yet. I thought I’d have some time to...figure out what to say.”

“Let me worry about that,” Flynn says. “You don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want to.”

“It would be better coming from me,” she insists. 

“I don’t disagree,” he replies. “But she’s going to have questions. Questions that you may not know the answers to.”

“And you do?”

Flynn shrugs. “I’m just saying that I’ve done this before.”

Whatever Lucy had planned to say is interrupted by the front door opening. 

“Luce? Is that you?” Amy steps out, her own keys in her hand. “I was just about to run to the—” She stops in her tracks at the sight of Flynn.

“Who’s this?” She asks, looking between the two of them.

“This is, uh—” Lucy pauses. There are people after me and he’s an agent who showed up to protect me both sound too surreal to say aloud. But, as it turns out, she doesn’t have to figure out a way to finish the sentence.

“Garcia Flynn,” Flynn interjects, stepping forward to shake Amy’s hand. “Lucy’s boyfriend.”

Lucy almost chokes. For her part, Amy looks as stunned as Lucy feels, her eyebrows practically at her hairline as she stares at Flynn and then looks at Lucy over his shoulder.

“I didn’t realize Lucy was seeing anyone,” she says.

I’m not, Lucy thinks incredulously. But, given the fact that he’s said it now, she has to at least attempt to keep that from showing on her face.

“It’s newly official,” Flynn lies easily. “We met at a conference a little over a year ago in...was it Portland, honey?”

If Lucy had been caught off guard before, she’s even more so when he turns the focus back to her.

“Um…” She casts her mind around and realizes what he’s referring to. “Yes, Portland. I was presenting that paper on John Wilkes Booth, you remember the one Ames.”

Amy doesn’t look terribly convinced, but she nods slowly. “Well, it’s great to meet you, Garcia,” she acknowledges, shooting Lucy a look that says they’ll definitely be talking more about this later. “I was just headed out, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you later.”

“Lovely to meet you as well,” he replies. 

“Bye, Ames,” Lucy calls after her when Amy starts towards her car. She’s quiet while she and Flynn enter the house, but she rounds on him as soon as the door closes behind them.

“My boyfriend,” she hisses. “Why would you tell her that?”

Flynn looks remarkably unconcerned for someone currently on the other end of a death glare.

“It’s better if you don’t tell her the truth, Lucy,” he says. “It was the easiest explanation for why I’m here.”

“I—” It’s such a ridiculous statement that she hardly knows where to start. “Okay, a) it was not the easiest explanation because she didn’t believe that at all, and b) what the hell do you mean it’s better if she doesn’t know the truth? She’s my sister!”

“Of course she believed it.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be a spy. She clearly didn’t.”

“Well, then when she asks, I hope you’ll help her do so,” he replies.

“I don’t want to lie to my sister.”

“Even if it’s for her own good?”

That brings Lucy up short. “What are you talking about?”

“I told you, I’ve done this before,” Flynn points out. “These people, they aren’t good, they aren’t nice, but at the moment they don’t have any reason to go after your sister. If they think she knows the truth, knows about them, that might change. So, yes. I lied. But only to keep her safe.”

It was the best card he could have played. If she weren’t exhausted and concerned for herself and Amy, she would be far more pissed at him. As it is, her anger drains out of her and leaves her hollowed out and numb.

“You said something about checking for bugs?” She says, changing the subject.

Flynn nods. “It shouldn’t take me too long.”

“Okay,” Lucy sighs. “I’m...going to take a shower. Call if you need anything.”

She doesn’t necessarily think he’s going to argue with her about that, but she’s grateful when he lets her leave the room without complaint anyway. Hot water and nice-smelling soap may not fix everything, but they tend to work wonders in a pinch.

Lucy gathers up some clean clothes—just lounge pants and an oversized sweater—and locks herself in the bathroom. The moment the lock clicks, she leans back against the door and takes a moment to breathe. 

_Why is this happening to me?_

Theoretically, Flynn has at least some of those answers. At the moment, she’ll take whatever he can give.

* * *

Flynn watches Lucy as she leaves the room, feeling only the faintest flicker of guilt at his deception. He doesn’t regret lying to Amy Preston—he still feels it was the best choice in the circumstances—but he does somewhat regret making Lucy’s life more difficult in an already difficult situation. Sometimes he forgets that not everyone is built for this.

(There’s another strand of guilt that curls up and settles in his chest the longer he thinks about it. But that has nothing to do with Lucy herself and everything to do with the fact that saying he’s with another woman, even dishonestly, feels...wrong. Even if it’s been over a year since he lost Lorena, it still feels like it was only yesterday, and this particular lie is almost more than he can be comfortable with)

Flynn rakes a hand through his hair and pulls a radar device from his pocket. If he’s going to be here, he can at least do what he said he would and check for cameras or listening devices instead of dwelling on potentially ill-advised cover stories. 

(If he spends too much time thinking about why Amy would have a difficult time believing Lucy is in a relationship, if he can’t help thinking that seems like a shame and that someone so lovely and accomplished should easily have whoever she wished, well, no one has to know but him)


	6. v.

There are times when Flynn really doesn’t like being right. This is definitely one of those times.

He hadn’t been positive about Rittenhouse watching Lucy, but the small pile of recording devices on the desk in Lucy’s office confirms it.

Flynn swears to himself, a different curse in a different language for each device, and then he grabs an encyclopedic tome off the shelf and brings it down on top of them. The satisfaction he gets from the crunch of plastic and metal is limited, but it’s enough.

 _Try listening now, you bastards_. 

And then he picks up the phone.

“You know, I do have actual work to do,” Rufus says when he picks up after two rings. “My entire day does not revolve around doing favors for people who are supposed to be _on vacation_.” 

“I’ve got something for you,” Flynn says, ignoring that as he picks up a broken piece from one of the devices.

“Now, when you say “something” do you mean something like _Hey, Rufus I really appreciate you_ or like _I’m about to make your life more difficult_?” From his tone, it’s clear which one he expects.

“Rittenhouse was bugging Lucy’s house,” Flynn replies. “I just finished my sweep. Found about six and disabled them.”

“By which you mean that you used the jamming tech I gave you and not that you smashed them, right?”

Flynn looks down at the small collection of fragments on the desk. His silence apparently says it all.

“Oh my god, you’re the worst,” Rufus sighs.

“You can still pull data off of them, right?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask me that.”

A few rooms away, the shower finally shuts off and Flynn grimaces at the thought of the coming conversation. He should be able to get through it without telling Lucy absolutely everything, but after the events of the afternoon she’s not likely to let it go easily if she thinks he’s holding anything back. 

“Flynn?” Rufus’s voice echoes in his ear and he snaps back to attention.

Flynn clears his throat and rakes a hand through his hair. “How should I get these to you?” He asks. “Should I give them to Wyatt?”

“Probably for the best,” Rufus agrees. “Although you’re going to owe him so big for driving back and forth all day.”

“Yeah, well, he can put it on my tab.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear that.” Rufus goes quiet for a moment, then clears his throat. “Flynn?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, but...you know they’re going to try and pull you from this, right?” Rufus asks. “I mean, Wyatt got the authorization he needed to pick up those two suspects, but everyone knows you’re there now. The Director isn’t happy.”

Flynn bites his tongue hard enough to taste copper to keep himself from shouting at Rufus. It’s not his fault, after all, and pissing off the person you’ve just asked for a favor isn’t a good strategy. But there’s anger rising hot in his veins—at Rittenhouse, at the Director, at the whole fucking bureaucracy of the NSA—and he would love to yell at someone.

“I’d like to see them try to pull me,” he finally replies. “The Director isn’t happy? Well, _I’m_ not happy that Lucy Preston was almost kidnapped this afternoon after he refused to assign her an agent. _I’m_ not happy that he didn’t take this seriously a _month_ ago.”

“Flynn—”

“She’s a good person, Rufus,” Flynn continues, and as he says the words, he’s struck by how much he believes them. He’s learned most of what he knows about Lucy from a file, has only spent maybe an hour interacting with her, has wondered if there’s something she’s hiding, and yet— “She’s a good person. She doesn’t deserve this. And until she’s safe, I’m not going anywhere. Feel free to tell him that.”

“Yeah...I’d really rather not,” Rufus says. “Look, man, I’m on your side here. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m just telling you to be prepared.”

_Be prepared._

It won’t be the first time he’s had to defend his position on a Rittenhouse investigation. The Director had wanted to take him off the first one as well, long before he caught up to Neville. Said he was compromised, that he couldn’t be objective—it was Wyatt going to bat for him that saved him that time. But now—

Flynn knows he seems obsessed. He knows what it must look like that he took this on without permission. And maybe it’s true. Maybe he is obsessed.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t do his job. 

“I can do this, Rufus,” he says. 

“I never said you couldn’t,” Rufus replies. “But you need to be careful.”

_Be careful._

Wyatt hadn’t said it outright when he gave him the file, but Flynn knew he’d been thinking it. And now Rufus is saying it. 

Flynn doesn’t know how to say that careful is the last thing he cares about. They probably know that anyway—Rufus wouldn’t bother reminding him otherwise. 

“I’ll give Wyatt the bugs for you.” It’s an abrupt change of subject, effectively foreclosing the possibility for any other expressions of concern. 

 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and then— “I’ll call you when I have something.”

(It’s the professional voice Rufus uses with other agents, that he only puts on with Flynn and Wyatt when he’s annoyed or making a point or both. Flynn used to not mind, back when he was just another agent to Rufus. Now, it makes him feel something like guilt.)

The beep of an ended call echoes in Flynn’s ears even after he sets the phone aside.

* * *

The shower helps. By the time Lucy shuts off the spray, she feels more grounded. Stable. And as soon as she’s had time to work some of the way through the chilling panic of being stalked, she vaults directly into anger.

What gives these people the right to disrupt her life? She has a good career, she’s happy—for the most part—how dare they?

(She’s angry with Flynn too, at least a little. It’s unfair to resent him for showing up and saving her, but part of her wants to blame him anyway. In some ways, it was easier when she didn’t know. At least then, she wasn’t scared, didn’t feel like she needed to look over her shoulder at all times. She may be safer knowing, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t more difficult.)

After pulling on the clothes she brought into the bathroom, Lucy wraps herself in her most comfortable—threadbare and worn though it is—robe for good measure. Ingrained discomfort rises in her at the thought of being less than fully put together in front of a guest, but she pushes that aside. Flynn’s hardly a guest anyway and this is her house. He can deal with her being comfortable.

Flynn’s busy when Lucy steps into her office—there are two plastic evidence bags, sealed and labeled on her desk, and he caps a marker closed after sealing a third while she watches. The broken mechanical pieces inside the bags make her stomach twist. 

“Are those…” She trails off, unsure if she really wants confirmation.

“Listening devices,” Flynn replies. “They were, yes.”

 _Why?_ Lucy wants to shout. _Why me? Why now? Why?_

“Who are these people?” She asks instead, sinking into a chair. He’d promised her answers, after all. 

“They’re called Rittenhouse, as I mentioned,” Flynn says. “I suppose you could call them an organized crime syndicate.”

“Like the mafia?” 

“That’s close enough, sure,” he agrees. “They first came to our attention about two years ago when an agent came across the name in connection to some concerning financial transactions. We know they’re dangerous, well-financed, well-connected. But we know less than we’d like.”

Lucy bites her lip and worries the worn edge of her robe between her fingers. 

“What about the man who had the pictures of me?”

“He’s dead.” A strange look crosses over Flynn’s face and he looks back to the desk, busying himself with the evidence bags. “We found the apartment with the photos after he died.”

“How did he die?”

“Rittenhouse killed him. The day we were meant to arrest him. Shot him right in front of me. He was our last lead.”

Lucy goes cold. An organization connected enough to be able to find out when one of their own is going to be arrested by the feds, and they’re after _her_? There’s dangerous and then there’s _dangerous_. She’d been hoping that Flynn had been exaggerating. That things weren’t quite as serious and dramatic as he made them sound. Even after the kidnapping attempt, she’d still hoped.

“And that man...Neville, you said his name was?” She asks. “I know—look, I get that you know he worked for these people, but is there any chance he was a—free agent or something?”

“Everything Jake Neville ever did, he did for Rittenhouse,” Flynn replies. There’s a hard note in his voice—a sharp contrast to the way he’s spoken to her before—but it clears when he looks up at her. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I am. But if there’s anything at all you can think of—”

“I already told you, I’ve never heard that name be—” Lucy cuts off abruptly as something clicks. _Rittenhouse_. Heard it, no. But she’s seen it, hasn’t she?

(It’s crazy. It doesn’t make any sense, but then, none of this does. None of it at all.) 

“Lucy?”

“Before my mother died, I took a research trip to the East Coast—Philadelphia, Boston, New York,” she says slowly. “I was looking at archived documents on the Revolutionary War. Letters, other writings. There was a name that came up in one of them—David Rittenhouse. He was a clockmaker, I think. And a philosopher. I was curious and wanted to find out more—I’d just started looking at a treatise he wrote when I got the call that mom had been taken to the hospital. I cut my trip short. Haven’t thought about it since.” 

Lucy wants Flynn to tell her it’s a random coincidence, nothing more. Instead, he looks thoughtful. 

“David Rittenhouse was a person?” 

“Yeah.”

“And that treatise you saw—do you remember what it was about?”

It’s hard to look back when so much of her life for those months was overshadowed by her mother’s illness. Hospitals, doctors, surgeries and tubes and machines—

_Focus._

“Society.” Lucy grasps at the memory like a lifeline when she manages to find it. “He was saying that people need to be ruled. Controlled. That society is not capable of handling true freedom. That the illusion is all we really want.” 

She shivers in the silence that falls following that statement. She doesn’t know what to say, how to break it. As it turns out, she doesn’t need to. 

Flynn wets his lips and drags a hand over his face. 

“Right,” he says. “Okay. When was that trip?”

“Um...March? It was over the University’s spring break.”

Less than a year, and yet it feels like a lifetime ago. 

“You don’t really think—”

“I think we have to consider every possibility,” Flynn replies. “You can’t think of anything else, can you?”

“No,” Lucy acknowledges. “No, I can’t.”

Flynn nods once. “My partner is coming down to interrogate the men who tried to kidnap you. We’ll see what they have to say.”

“And then?”

“And then we’ll go from there.” 

Flynn picks up his phone and starts to dial, glancing back to her when he brings it up to his ear. 

“Don’t worry, Lucy,” he says. “We’ll figure this out—hey, Wyatt—”

Lucy tunes out the conversation. 

They’ll figure this out. He’ll keep her safe. 

She has no reason not to believe him. 

That doesn’t stop her from pulling her robe tighter and wondering what happens if they don’t. If he can’t.

**Author's Note:**

> A few days ago I started watching Crossing Lines because I had a need for scruffy/sad/tortured Goran in my life. This inspired my brain to start kicking around ideas about an AU where Flynn is still an NSA Agent and time travel is not a Thing. And this is what happened. 
> 
> I highly regret my choices in this matter. But the tropes. Think of the tropes.


End file.
